


Time is an illusion (tea time doubly so)

by Enigel



Category: Doctor Who, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-03
Updated: 2010-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigel/pseuds/Enigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two aliens and two ape descendants acquire access into a bar-like structure...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time is an illusion (tea time doubly so)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by Daegaer.
> 
> [Tea information from here](http://www.ehow.com/how_2116128_proper-cup-british-tea.html), also beta-ed by Daegaer.

"I don't see why you're complaining," said Ford, swinging from branch to branch without breaking a sweat, "what with your being descended from apes and all that. If anything, _I_ should be offended, since this means of transportation was never natural to my ancestors."

Arthur glared at him, but before he could let Ford know exactly what he thought about his ancestors he had to swerve abruptly and clutch at a purple trunk in order to avoid an imminent collision with another ape descendant making her way to the Tree Hugger.

"Oi! Watch it!" she shouted heartily, her ginger hair floating in her wake like a flame. "I've got enough trouble already, since obviously _someone_ thought it would be fun to jump about in trees like monkeys."

"Apes," said Arthur automatically.

"What?" she asked sharply.

Arthur realised, belatedly, that her last words and the accompanying glare had been directed at someone behind her. Now, however, he had her full attention.

"Apes, not monkeys," Arthur explained, feeling rather foolish under her glare.

"Oh, so are you an expert on not-monkeys, Mr Dressing Gown?"

Arthur had the feeling that her hands would have been firmly propped on her hips, if she hadn't been using them to clutch at tree parts.

"Now, now, Donna," chirped a male voice from among the purple foliage, "don't be rude. What looks like a dressing gown to you might be the ceremonial garb of a high priest of Karpavellon 3, or the official dress code for the Ambassador of Threll Zeta. Of course, it might be the prison uniform of a Grahx B escapee, in which case we might have a _wee_ bit of a problem."

With final rustle of leaves, the owner of the voice came into view, hopping and jumping from branch to branch as if he'd been born to it, and for all Arthur knew, he might have.

"Ah," the newcomer said. "No, you're right, that's a just plain old Earth dressing gown. I'd say... Great Britain, late 20th century." He grinned widely. "Never should have doubted you, Donna, you certainly know a dressing gown when you see one, and that's as dressing gown-y as dressing gowns come."

"The dressing gown is standing right here, you know," said Arthur icily.

"Of course it does!" The manic grin turned to Arthur now, and if Arthur had not been used to Ford's grins by now, he would have recoiled from the sheer crazed glee and the shining teeth. "And does the dressing gown wear a name when it's not being used as a metaphor?"

"Synechdoche," corrected Arthur automatically.

"Ooh, now that's a strange name, Synechdoque? Synechdock? Did I get it right? No?" he trailed off under Arthur's withering glare.

"He meant the figure of speech, Doctor," Donna said, rolling her eyes and taking charge of the conversation. "I'm Donna Noble, he's the Doctor, nice to meet you, now let's. Get. _Moving_. I was thirsty _before_ we started monkeying our way to the promised bar."

With a decisive swish of her hips, she took the lead, and they began filing behind her.

"It's called brachiation, Donna," huffed the Doctor, "and it's a perfectly acceptable means of transportation on Rhesupian Gamma. The only acceptable means, actually."

"Why?" Donna asked. "Is walking taboo to the Rhesupians? Are they going to execute us if we walk?"

"Ah, no, it's not that," the Doctor responded absently. "It's just that the poisonous alligators would eat you if you walked on the ground, that's all."

Arthur had been enduring the conversation because he had no other choice, and because having this alleged Doctor in front of him was useful in picking the best branches on which to hang or step, but his attention pricked up at the last remark.

"Ford?" he asked sharply. "You didn't mention anything about _poisonous alligators_. I would think that even _you_ would mention something like _poisonous alligators_."

Ford remained unusually silent as they finally, _finally_ stepped - well, hopped - on a large platform under a canopy of more purple leaves. A huge sign in purple letters on purple background announced that this was The Tree Hugger, the best bar in three galaxies with arboreal-only access!!! It was probably the _only_ such bar in three galaxies, Arthur thought, examining the sparse look of the construction.

"Ford?" Arthur asked more impatiently, turning to look at his friend.

Ford had an unusual thoughtful look on his face. It wasn't very different from his manic look, but it made him look more serious for the five seconds it lasted.

"Doctor!" he suddenly exclaimed, his accustomed deranged expression coming back in full force. "Look at you, how tall you've grown!"

"Ah, you." The Doctor glared. "I'm not talking to you, Ford Prefect. We're not talking to him, Donna."

The Doctor's admonition had upon Donna the effect expected from any normal, red-blooded ape-descendant. She immediately turned to Ford and began harassing him for details.

Which left Arthur and the Doctor staring at each other over a table of purple wood.

Bits of conversation drifted to them from Ford and Donna - something about an umbrella and a game of psychic manipulation which apparently the Doctor had lost. The Doctor was eying Arthur in concentration now.

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong, though, honestly, I never am, so it's more of a formality really, a bit of a bow to classical rhetoric, but - er, where was I?"

"You were staring at me," Arthur pointed out coldly, before the maniac could claim that it had been another rhetorical trick.

"Ah yes, you! If _that_," the Doctor said, pointing a finger at Ford, "is the infamous Ford Prefect, then _you_ must be Arthur Dent."

Arthur felt himself stiffen. Echoes of alien laughter drifted hollowly through his memory.

"So what if I am?" he asked, trying for "bellicose with a side of defiant" and falling this side of "plaintive".

"Oooh, Arthur." The Doctor looked him straight in the eyes, and grabbed his hands in his. "I'm sorry." He looked deadly serious, too. "On behalf of the whole universe, I'm so, _so_ sorry."

There it was, the first alien who'd ever sympathised with Arthur, and Arthur couldn't even appreciate it properly. His mouth was too busy hanging open, while his mind was feeding him treacherous alternative explanations for why an alien he'd never met before was feeling sorry for Arthur, when plenty of the aliens Arthur had met and been given offense, insult or grievous bodily harm from had never felt any detectable trace of remorse whatsoever. Another part of Arthur's now jaded mind was pointing out that perhaps the alien was apologising for harm he was _going to_ commit in the future.

While Arthur's mental processes were thus occupied, the Doctor clasped his hands together and turned to the company at large, beaming his manic grin again.

"Right then, boys and girls - well, _girl_, singular, really - what shall we have?"

***

"Tea?" said Ford incredulously. "With over a thousand choices of beverages that are agreeable to humanoid body types and a few hundred which are _not_, but have known antidotes and are so much fun, you want _tea_."

"Yes, tea," said Arthur. His frustration of many years coalesced into a powerful rage, and he felt a mighty rant coming. This had never been a successful enterprise for him before, but one of the typical symptoms of the rant was a certain bypassing of the superior cortical inhibitions - i.e. speaking without thinking, so off he went like a ship with its sails unfurled, while his brain was desperately waving its hands in the background, trying to remind him of something that seemed of mild to moderate importance.

"A proper, normal, cup of tea, made of proper Indian tea leaves - not that bagged dust that passes for tea in some places which ought to know better, leaves that have properly matured under the light of the Sun - the Sun, not some red giant or twin star system, and have been collected at the right age and season, and dried according to centuries of proper Earth tradition. A cup of good honest _tea_, made with boiling water, not hot water, not _boiled_ water, boil_ing_; properly steeped, in a proper teapot, for the right amount of time to allow the flavour to unfurl and spread to perfection." Arthur took a deep breath. "But if all that is too much, then at least let it be Indian tea, not other botanical abominations, let me have that boiling water, and don't even mention _cream_."

Freed from his rant, Arthur could survey his table companions.

Donna was looking at him with wide eyes. Ford appeared on the verge of blinking. The Doctor was staring him with uncomfortable intensity.

Arthur belatedly realised what is was that his brain had been making all those noises about - the last time he'd been on a tea-inspired rant, it had almost caused the destruction of the Heart of Gold and the lifeforms inhabiting it, which included Arthur.

The Doctor's face sprouted a huge grin that threatened to split it in half. (Arthur had seen such a thing happening on Kasma Rel, and it was not a pretty sight. It was better than the merciless mockery which he anticipated.) He steeled himself for it with grim determination.

"Arthur Dent," the Doctor said delightedly, "that was the most beautiful eulogy to tea I have ever heard. That was _brilliant_! My word, good man, you shall have a proper cup of tea before the end of the day if I have to prepare it myself!"

***

Of course, that was when the hostile aliens attacked, so there was a lot of running for their lives ("Well, brachiating really, but that's a bit of a mouthful when you're running, I mean, brachiating for your... ow!"), being threatened, imprisoned, and shot at before the day was over - and the Rhesupian Gamma day lasted 40 Earth hours.

But true to his word, at the end of the day the Doctor was serving them tea from an actual Earth teapot. When he saw the tea towel Arthur actually wept. (Later, when he found it in one of the pockets of his dressing gown, Ford claimed no knowledge of how it got there, but expressed the hope that Arthur would henceforth finally become a proper hitchhiker and always know where his towel was.)

***

"Oi, what was that all about?"

The Doctor looked serious and pensive.

"Oh, he comes from one of the universes without a Doctor. His world was destroyed, you know. Nothing I could do about that. He and his friends are reality-locked from all Earths now. He can't ever go back to it. He does get to see the universe though."

"He didn't seem to be enjoying it all that much," Donna said.

"Ah well, can't have it all, can you?" The Doctor shrugged. "Righty-o, Donna, where to next?"

"I think I'd like to go back to Earth for a bit. Just to make sure it's still there, you know? And I think we need a new tea towel."

**Author's Note:**

> The challenge FAQ had the question Does the character necessarily have to walk in? and the answer was No! All forms of locomotion are equally acceptable. Triple points for brachiation.
> 
> My first thought (after reading up on what that meant ;) ) was: "Haha, yeah right." And then I got Arthur Dent. We know what the universe is like towards Arthur.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Time is an illusion (tea time doubly so) [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/394697) by [tinypinkmouse_podfic (tinypinkmouse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypinkmouse/pseuds/tinypinkmouse_podfic)




End file.
